


Settling In

by Itsagoodthing (itzagoodthing)



Series: Out of Space and Time [3]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Din is feeling better, F/M, Family Fluff, I forgot to write in Riley (sorry bud), Modern AU, everyone is happy, soft fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:47:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25621600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itzagoodthing/pseuds/Itsagoodthing
Summary: Glimpses into Din and Baby's new life over the first few weeks in Pari's galaxy.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Pari Strart, Din/OFC
Series: Out of Space and Time [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1769332
Comments: 20
Kudos: 60





	1. Surrounded On All Sides

**Author's Note:**

> This installment begins six days post OOSAT. If you haven't read Out of Space and Time, this will make no sense.

_Nine days post Din’s re-entry into Pari's galaxy..._

The sun was barely over the horizon as Pari handed Rherr a thermos. "There may be some grounds in there. Sorry, the filter slipped on me."

_"Yes—_ chunky caff..." Bending down, he kissed her on the cheek. "I’m running late; thanks.” Heading out the door, he was about to close it when he stopped, “Tell Din I said he’s only been out of the med center for five days—no home maintenance today."

Pari frowned. “What’s that mean?”

“Nope. I promised I wouldn't rat him out. Just pass along the message, please.”

Rherr shut the door, and Pari's head swiveled toward the living room, her eyes narrowing at the implied controversy.

She walked to where Din was lying on the couch. Strolling up to stand over him, she said, "Rherr had a particularly specific message for you as he was leaving. He said to tell you ‘no home maintenance today’." She tilted her head to the side. "Want to tell me what that's all about?"

Looking up at her, Din seemed to sink back onto the pillows a little more. "Not especially."

~~

Later, Din came up behind her as she stood at the sink, washing dishes. His chin landed on her shoulder. Leaning back, Pari brushed her lips over his. Winking at the babe perched on his shoulder, she told Din, “Morning.”

It was 4:27 in the afternoon.

Turning his face into her neck, he mumbled, “That’s the third time you’ve greeted me like that today.”

Pair smiled as she shut off the water. “It’s the third time you’ve woken up today.”

She turned into him, and his hand landed on her hip. “That’s because you keep drugging me.”

“Not true.” Grinning, she jabbed a finger at his left shoulder, “You drugged yourself that last time.”

Using the same shoulder, he shrugged. “Fair enough.”

“Head any better?”

“If by better, you mean, does it still feel like it’s going to crack wide open—it does not.”

Pari’s brow gathered under an expression of sympathy. “Still hurts, though.”

Using the hand in the sling, Din made a so-so gesture. “Yes, but it’s a lot better than it had been over the past week.”

“Marked improvement,” She touched his chest. “We’ll take that.” Din’s foundling reached toward her, and she captured his little hand in hers. “Hey, love. How about a snack?”

The babe clapped. _Yes!_

Din glanced at him. “Yes, what?”

_Please. Yes please, Pari._ Seeing him sign the letter P and tap it above his heart made her melt. It was a shortcut for her name. They still need to come up with one for Riley since Rherr already had a claim on the letter R.

Her brother had boldly suggested they use ‘D’ for Dirty Dan. It was a nickname he called her dog now and then, and in Rherr’s defense, the big furbaby generally deserved it when it was used. Regardless, she had been quick to veto that idea.

Reaching into the fridge, she grabbed a cheese stick and an applesauce cup. Holding them both out, she grinned as the child’s large brown eyes danced between them for a moment as he decided. He eventually went for the hand with the cheese stick, and she passed it over.

Thanking her, he got busy working on peeling back the wrapper. At least, he didn’t try to eat it with the wrapper on like the first time. That had been slightly terrifying for Din, who had spent a solid minute with his finger in the babe’s mouth, digging out a piece of the plastic wrapper. 

Liberating his prize, he passed the trash down to his _buir_ and started munching. 

Pari watched Din toss out the wrapper, and she gave him a quick once-over. “Doing okay? Need anything, or are you here just to grace me with your company and deliver me from the monotony that is the dishes?” she asked while elegantly gesturing toward the impressive stack of dishes to her left.

The corner of Din’s mouth ticked upward, “Actually, I thought you could deliver me from the monotony that is recuperating—still.”

“Yeah,” reaching into the hot water, she pulled out a spatula, “You seem to be doing a lot of that lately.”

“Entering your galaxy has not been kind to me.” Din took the spatula from her. Rinsing it off, he tacked on, “Either time.”

“Well, there you go. Stop trying to come back from really far away, and you won’t have to deal with another galactic beatdown.”

Din took the plastic bowl she passed him and rinsed it off. Setting it on the towel spread over the counter, he said, “So, by your logic, if someday I end up really far away again, I should just stay out there and not come back.”

“How about you just stop going really far away altogether.”

“Might be best.”

He went to take the stone platter from her hands, and she pulled it back. “Not this. It’s heavy and your insides are still healing.”

“I’m sure it’s not heavier than ten pounds.”

Leveling a look at him, she passed it over. She couldn’t help it when the mom in her flared. “Fine, but no twisting or reaching with it. Take a step over to set it down.”

Taking it in his left hand, he gave her a look of his own. While her look had been one of warning, his revealed patient amusement. Rinsing it off, he obliged and took a step over to lay it on the towel. 

Moving to stand beside her again, Din looked at her, and then he did a double-take.

She gave him a side glance. “What?”

Looking slightly confused, Din’s brow furrowed as he slid a finger through her hair. “What’s this…?”

“Oh.” Slightly embarrassed, she forgot about the soap on her hands and pressed sudsy fingers to the side of her head. “Yeah, I know. I’ve got some grey.”

“Uh...” he grinned.

“Okay, yes, fine. A moderate amount of grey. I promise you, though, I’m only 33. Not 50.”

Din snickered, “I’m not talking about the grey.” He dug through her hair a little more. Pushing a portion to the side, he exposed her roots. The babe on his shoulder leaned in with an _ohhh,_ and then his little claws were rummaging through her strands.

Sighing, Pari tipped her head to the side. Between the two of them, she was starting to feel like a beek-monkey getting groomed by her troop. Eyes raising to the ceiling as they explored, she asked, “Well, what are you talking about then?”

“I’m talking about the color.” Grabbing a few strands, he wagged the ends at her. “This isn’t your natural color.”

Finished grooming, the child climbed from Din’s shoulder to hers and was now just playing as he tangled his hands in the length of her hair.

Pari smiled at Din, “You’ve caught me. I’m not a natural chestnut.”

“No. You’re not.” His smile grew just a little, “Your hair seems almost as dark as mine.”

“True. I’ve had it this color for a while, though. Just got used to it, I guess. Usually, I’m better about keeping the grey covered. Been a little preoccupied over the last few weeks,” she tugged lightly on the hand peeking out of the sling. “I need to order a batch.”

His hand gave hers a light squeeze before she turned back to the sink. Grabbing a few items from the shrinking pile on her left, she dumped them into the water. Scrubbing a plate, Pari studied him as she worked. “When I place the order, would you like me to go back to my natural color?”

“That’s up to you.”

“It is. But I’m asking your opinion.”

“That’s...” he grinned. “That’s really up to you.”

Passing him the plate, Pari grabbed the hand towel off the stove handle. Drying her hands, she waited for him to rinse it and set it down.

Din shut off the water and looked at her as she wrapped her arms around his waist. The arm in the sling got trapped between them, as his other settled around her shoulders. Pulling her close, he told her, “You could let the grey grow out if you wanted to. You’d still be beautiful.”

Pari laughed, pulling away. “No way. Then I’d _really_ look 50.”

“I doubt that very much.”

~~

_Seven days later..._

Pari was in the shower rinsing the dye out of her hair when Din commented, “It looks like someone had a regrettable accident in there.”

“What?” wiping her eyes, she peered out the transparisteel doors.

Din gestured at the shower wall behind her.

He had a point. Brown hair dye was running down the white marbled wall in various places. Pulling the showerhead from the base, Pari waved around the wand, rinsing the walls. “You could have said it looked like coffee or chocolate.”

He grinned, “It absolutely looked like something else.”

“You’re such a boy.”

“Guilty.”

Pari peeked at him before squirting the shampoo into her hand. “You’re really going to sit there on the counter and watch me take a shower?”

“First: Yes. Second: Did I mention how boring it is when you’re on restricted duty?”

Scrubbing the suds through her head, she said, “Din, you’re not even cleared for restricted duty. You’re on _no_ duty right now.”

“My point exactly.”

~~

Looking at herself in the mirror, Pari ran the hairdryer over the brush and down the length of her hair. She was paying more attention to the darker shade she decided to go with this time, than any styling she was doing. 

It had been close to ten years since she had revisited her natural color, and Din was right. It was surprisingly similar to his. If they had kids one day, there would be no guessing what hair color they’d show up having. 

_Whoa._

Shutting off the hairdryer, Pari set it on the countertop. Slightly shocked by how that wayward thought slid through her mind, she had to lean against the vanity a little and process. She’d known him just under a month. Compared to the relationships she’s had in the past, this one was... different.

If she had to describe it in one word, she would probably go with _intense_ or _concentrated_. Like those frozen juices you have to add water to—she grinned at that. Their relationship was like a container of concentrated juice. No room for the watery stuff, it was a whole lot reduced down and shoved into a small container of time.

Running her fingers through her hair, Pari flipped a chunk on the top over to the side. Besides, she was already 33. She wasn’t sure if she even wanted more kids. She wasn’t sure if Din wanted more kids, although she couldn’t put her finger on how, exactly, but there was a part of her that kind of knew he did. It was a feeling she’d picked up on in some of the conversations they’ve had over the last week and a half.

When all you can do is lay around and heal, things get boring real fast. Watching TV and talking over a multitude of topics kind of becomes your go-to form of entertainment. Those talks never dove into anything substantial like marriage or kids. Neither one of them was even close to being ready to consider taking things to that next level. Honestly, they both seemed to be sitting pretty solidly on the same page of ‘Let’s just enjoy this.’ Again, it was nothing they came out and discussed, but when you walk through a bit of hell with a person, if you pay attention, you’ll end up catching a few glimpses at their soul.

So, sure...if she were asked right then and there—yes, at some point she’d love to have more kids. And, if things between them continued down the same, concentrated path they were on, maybe they would someday. Perhaps they wouldn’t. She was okay with either. After all, the not knowing, the sitting back with someone to see where you end up, that was part of the fun.

Pulling out of her thoughts, she noticed the smile playing on her lips.

Pari tucked the sides of her hair behind her ears and walked out of the refresher.

She found the bedroom empty. Figuring that the noise of the hairdryer had probably chased Din out, she walked into the hallway and headed toward the living room. There, she found Din and the kids, on the couch, watching TV. Feeling a little self-conscious over her altered appearance, Pari smoothed back the hair behind one ear and walked up to him.

Half-reclined against the inside curve of the L-shaped couch, Din’s eyes lit up a little as she approached. Pari sat down on the space in front of him. The corners of his eyes crinkled just a little as he smiled. Dragging his fingers through the ends of her hair, he told her, “I like it.”

~~

_Four days later..._

Din woke up in the middle of the night the first time he heard it.

Eyes snapping open, a thought of _what the hell was that_ shot through his hazy mind. He was reasonably sure he’d heard it nearby... or had it come from outside?

Lying on his back, Din glanced through the darkness to the warm shape pressed against the side of his arm.

“Pari...” 

Wiggling closer, her head moved over his arm to nuzzle against his chest. Arm wrapped around the leg he had angled in her direction, she murmured, _“Mm..._ set the beer trap for Rherr.”

Frowning, Din didn’t bother asking her to clarify. She was already back out. Listening to her long, slumbering breaths, he doubted she’d been truly awake in the first place.

Locked down in the bed by Pari, he convinced himself he must have been dreaming.

Din closed his eyes and went back to sleep.

...

The second time he heard the sound had been the next morning.

Sitting on the side of the bed, he’d just slipped on a shirt and was getting his arm situated in the sling. He was in the process of being pleased with the diminishing discomfort as he moved—when the sound happened again.

Din pushed to his feet and crossed the room.

Popping his head out into the hallway, he caught sight of Pari’s back as she turned into the kitchen. She didn’t react to the sound. Clearly, she hadn’t heard it. But it _had_ come from somewhere in the house. Fully awake and aware this time, he was sure of that now.

Padding across the wood floor in his bare feet, Din stood in the middle of the hallway. His _ad’s_ room to his right, Sash’s to his left, Din glanced into both and listened.

Silence.

Taking another glance around both empty rooms, Din left and went back into Pari’s room to finish getting dressed.

...

The next time he heard it had been later that day. 

Leaning against the island in the kitchen, talking with Pari and Sash, he was listening as the girl relayed a story about her day.

The sound came from the living room—he was reasonably confident it was in the living room. The urge to break away from the conversation and look for it was intense. He couldn’t, though. Just like earlier with Pari, neither of them had reacted to the sound. They hadn’t heard it.

He wanted to ask them about it, almost did, but then they would ask him to describe what it sounded like. It was _“... like some kind of high-pitched, yodeling tooka bird.”_ He could already see the twin looks of skepticism.

The sound went off again. Giving the oven timer a side glance, Din slid his eyes to look at the other two in the room.

No reaction.

That makes four times he’s been the only one to hear a very distinct, out-of-place sound, and Din was beginning to think he was hearing things that weren’t there. He knows that can happen from being exposed to prolonged levels of high stress or extreme cases of sleep deprivation, but that shouldn’t apply to him anymore...

He couldn’t take it. Excusing himself, Din stepped away from the conversation and went into the living room.

His _ad_ was sitting on the floor, partially buried alive by a mound of Sash’s stuffed animals. Green ears sticking up out of the pile, the babe chittered and cooed to himself as he played. Din considered it, then almost as quickly, discredited the idea. He’s been with the kid for over a year. He knew every peep, whine, and giggle his foundling made. It wasn’t him, and Din tried to act natural as he casually investigated the room.

Again, he came up empty.

It was becoming maddening.

~~

After supper, Din sat on the floor in the living room with his foundling. Doing some PT on the arm and shoulder of his mending clavicle, he was multitasking. Looking over an application Pari had downloaded on her datapad, he searched for a new sign to teach his _ad._

Flexing his elbow, Din rotated his arm around, working the shoulder. He balanced Pari’s datapad on his thigh as he leaned to the side, looking down to where his datapad lay on the floor by his hip. It held a list he’d been making of the names and descriptions of new items and creatures they’d come across in their new galaxy.

Scrolling down, he chose the word: laptop. It looked like a big-ass datapad. Since they couldn’t go with big-ass datapad, Din turned the device so his foundling could see the picture. _“Ad’ika_. Look.” Din pointed to the image, telling him, “Laptop.” _Lapt—_

Stopping mid-sign, Din’s head swiveled toward the kitchen.

_The sound._

It was in the kitchen. It had just come from the... he glanced back at his foundling. Leaning in a little bit, Din hesitated, then asked in a low tone, “Did you hear that too?”

Looking at him, the babe nodded, and relief settled over him. He wasn’t systematically losing his mind. 

Handing his kid the datapad demonstrating the sign, he told him, “I’ll be right back.”

Beyond being tired of the whole thing, Din pushed to his feet and marched into the kitchen. He was 100% certain it had come from the kitchen, but the only thing he found in there was Pari.

Sweeping the floor, she gave him this modest kind of assessing glance as he stood there, looking around. Her brow gathered over a look of concern. Her eyes skimmed over his face, then dropped to look at the arm not resting in the sling. Finally, she asked, “You okay?”

“I... yes.”

“You sure?” Leaning the broom handle against a set of tall cabinets, she went to him. “Because you’ve been acting strange all day.”

Frowning down at her, he decided to just come out with it, when it happened again. It was her. It was on _her._ Ignoring the twinge in his collarbone, he grabbed her with both hands. Spinning her around, he looked her over.

“What are you—”

“That sound, where is it coming from?”

Pari snickered. Turning back around, she faced him and pulled out her cell phone from her back pocket. He went to ask, and she raised a finger. She touched the screen a few times, then held the phone up to him. The screen was black.

Again, he went to ask, and she said, “Wait for it.”

He looked back, and the screen lit up with a picture of Rherr’s helm... accompanied by the sound he’d been chasing all day.

His gaze switched back to Pari, “What _is_ that?”

“A text message from Rherr.”

“Okay... but what is the sound?”

“What, the notification sound? It’s a turkey gobbling.”

“What the hell is a turkey?”

“You don’t have turkeys in your old galaxy.”

“No.”

“Ah. Well, it’s a big bird, and that’s the sound it makes.”

“After all this time, why am I just hearing it now?”

“I’ve had my phone mostly on vibrate until today.”

“Why?”

“Because I know how shitty you’ve been feeling, and how hard it’s been for you to rest. I was afraid the sound of it going off would disturb you.” Turning wide doe-eyes on him, she touched his arm with feigned relief, “Thank _Maker_ I was wrong...”

Her sarcasm was extra thick.

He was not amused. The look he shot her relayed that.

She laughed.

He sighed. “Why is Rherr’s notification sound a turkey?”

“You’ve never seen a turkey.”

She knows he hasn’t. They just established this. Still, he responded with, “No.”

“Well, when you see one in its natural environment, you’ll understand.” Kissing his cheek, that’s all she gave him.

“Hm,” was all he said as Pari went back and grabbed the broom.

~~

Pari resumed sweeping and watched Din give her phone a heated and, in her opinion, entirely uncalled for glare before he went back to work with his son.

Tidying up her pile, her head snapped up when Din cracked up from the living room. It wasn’t a chuckle or a snicker, it was a full-on belly laugh, and Pari grinned. Sign language isn’t that funny. She’d bet cold hard cash that he went in there and looked up turkey videos.

He was still laughing. _Yes, Din, my brother is a big turkey._

Dumping the pile into the trash, she kept smiling to herself at the sound of his laugh— _stars_ she loved it. Had she ever heard him bust out that that before? She didn’t think so, and she wondered when the last time was? Probably something his son had done. She’s bet money on that also. Din adored the little guy, and if anyone had the power to pull a laugh from him, it would be his _ad_.

Little hidden clues reside in the conversations she has with Din. If you listen, he drops clues about the kind of life he’d lived before the stars guided him into their lives. You just have to listen for them. From what she’s picked up, the words _difficult, isolated, and lonely_ don’t even begin to chip away at the big picture. He’s had it rough. Hopefully though, hopefully, things will be completely different for him now, in a place that’s completely different from where he’s been so far.

Putting away the broom, Pari wiped down the counters and shut off the kitchen light.

_TBC_


	2. The Alor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din finally has his meeting with the alor to make his induction into Rherr's Tribe official.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Ad—son/daughter  
> Ad’ika—little one  
> Alor—leader of the Tribe  
> Buir—father/mother  
> Ne suvarir, Alor—I understand, Alor  
> Verd—soldier/warrior  
> Vod—brother/sister  
> Vode—brothers/sisters

* * *

_One-month post OOSAT_

Healing well over the last four weeks, Din was pleased to find his energy levels finally leveling out. He still struggled with fatigue now and then, and his arm was still in the sling, but his head hadn’t bothered him for more than a week, and his insides didn’t feel like they were grated raw anymore. He’d been off the pain meds for a couple of weeks, finding that something called _over-the-counter_ medicines did the trick just fine.

Bonus: they carried zero side effects for him. He had gotten on board with that in a hurry.

Two days ago, he’d received a message from the Base. He was scheduled for a checkup with one of the medics at the med center. Afterward, he was to have a private meeting with the _alor_ of the Tribe.

That brought him to where he was right then, sitting in the copilot’s seat on the _Insurgent_ and watching his kid standing on Rherr’s leg, “flying” the ship.

Pari’s brother had the autopilot engaged. No matter how hard the kid yanked around the yoke, the ship would not diverge from its flight path. Not without Rherr entering his override code. His kid didn’t know that though, and the look of sheer joy on his little face had Din cracking a grin.

The Nav computer signaled they were approaching their destination, and Rherr passed Din his foundling before retaking the controls. They were reentering the atmosphere on Jakku as Din strapped his _ad_ into the booster seat, and then reclaimed his place in the cockpit.

Looking out the ship’s clear canopy, Din wondered how long it was going to take for all the green below to become a normal sight for him. Considering Jakku back in his galaxy was a desert plant, one that he’d been to countless times over his thirty-six years, it was safe to say it might take a bit for the lush green of this Jakku to feel right.

The first time Din went to the Base, he had been laid out in the medical alcove of Rherr’s ship. Almost a week later, still busted four ways from Sunday, he’d been medicated and asleep before they had even lifted into the sky to head home.

Now, being able to see the Base for the first time, he leaned forward as he looked past the ship’s grey-blue nose. Rherr was making his final approach when he pointed out the canopy and glanced over at Din, “That’s it.”

Looking at the small town below, he asked, “Which part?”

Rherr looked at him and grinned. “All of it, _vod.”_

Feeling thunderstruck, Din swung his gaze over, “All of it?”

Rherr confirmed, “All of it.” Banking the ship around, he started pointing things out, “The Base sits on roughly 100 acres.” He indicated a more spread out sector, “That’s your main impact area. It takes up the lion’s share of the Base. You’ve got your airfield, drill and training areas, PT fields, swimming pools—”

Rherr looked over, “Can you swim?”

“Yes.”

“Can you swim well?”

Din turned to face him. “Yes.”

“Cool.” Maneuvering the ship around in a wide arc, Rherr pointed again, “They have an extensive medical facility—”

“Had that tour already.”

Rherr grinned, “—motorpool, barracks for enlisted that don’t want to pay for housing, and the administration buildings.”

The ship righted for a few seconds and then began another wide arc, “Over here is the Main Base. Base HQ, In-processing, the housing office, Base police, quarters for COs and NCOs, again for those who don’t want to pay for housing—amenities are minimal; they’re basically a one-bedroom flat.”

Din looked over, “You have one?”

“I do. When assigned to the Base, I’m at Pari’s more than I’m not. I rarely use my quarters, but it’s nice to have if I’m too wrecked to make the hour flight to the house.”

Din looked back out at the ground below as Rherr spoke with the tower. He got his clearance to land and then told Din, “The Main Base also has about ten different fitness sites, a school, library, fire department, and a decent-sized market.

The ship set down, and Rherr started flipping switches, powering her down.

Din was pushing off his harness as he asked, “Tell me again the numbers in the Tribe?”

Standing up, Rherr groaned through a deep stretch, “Roughly two thousand, and their families.” He dropped his arms and walked out of the cockpit.

Lowering his helm over his head, Din followed. He was liberating his foundling from the carrier strapped into one of the jumpseats when Rherr asked, “Thoughts?”

Din shook his head, “Right now, I’m just processing.” The cargo ramp lowered as they passed through the hull of the ship, and he added, “It makes me wonder if, over the decades, my Tribe will come to prosper as well as yours has.”

Rherr turned to face him. “Ours, _vod_. This is your Tribe now, too.”

Din nodded, “Something else I’m still adjusting to.”

Walking down the loading ramp beside Rherr, Din’s _ad_ looked up. Rubbing between his shoulders, Din asked, “What do you think, ready to check it out?”

~~

“Your injuries are healing well, _verd,”_ the medic commented as she looked at the datapad in her hand. “Just over four weeks since you were brought in and your internal injuries are nearly healed, the clavicle continues to mend well. Put up with the sling for another week, and if things continue to look good, I might be able to spring you from it a week early.”

She smiled at him, “I’m assuming you’d be okay with that.” 

Din nodded, “That would be good.” He looked to where his kid was sitting on the padded table beside him.

Going to town on the sucker the medic had given him, the child pulled it out of his mouth. A line of spit tethered it to his chin as he held it out. His _ad_ waved it around, nodded at it, then popped it back into his mouth.

Setting down her datapad, the medic leaned down to speak to the child, “What do you think, _verd’ika?_ Good?”

Pulling out the sucker again, another one of those long spit lines gripped the stick as he held it out to her.

“Oh, no thank you, love. That’s your sucker. You started it; you have to finish it.” The child squawked at her, and she shrugged, “I’m sorry, but those are the rules.”

His _ad_ cocked his little green head, then popped the sucker back in his mouth. The spit issue remained, and Din wiped a gloved finger along his kid’s chin.

The medic smiled. Touching the top of the child’s head, she turned to Din, “Okay, _verd,_ take it easy, and I’ll see you next week.”

~~

Din had lost his escort just outside after first arriving at the clinic. Before splitting, Rherr had told him to expect his meeting with the _alor_ to run long. He then made a side comment Din barely picked up on, something along the lines of how the older man could talk. Cuffing him on his left shoulder, Rherr had told him to just reach out over comms to find out where he was when the meeting wrapped up.

Now, after completing his checkup, Din stopped by the front desk of the clinic. He asked for directions to the administration buildings. The guy behind the counter told him it would be about a mile walk and asked Din if he was good for the hike or did he want him to call a shuttle.

Din respectfully declined. Thanking the man behind the reception desk, he walked out of the clinic and into the chilly midday sun.

~~

The walk from the medical facility to the administration building reminded him of being in Mos Eisley. If Mos Eisley was wall-to-wall Mandalorians. Din hadn’t seen this many in one place since he was a corporal in the fighting corps before the Great Purge. Cataloging his surroundings, Din figured out of all the Mandalorians he noticed on his way, less than a quarter of them wore their helmets.

Seemingly in sync with his thoughts again, the baby reached for him. Din looked down at him as he walked. Nestled behind the sling and partially concealed by his cloak, his _ad_ strained to reach his little claws to the bottom of his helmet. Din looked forward again, and his kid trilled at him as he tugged on his sleeve.

Stepping around a group of helmless Mandalorians taking up the sidewalk, Din gave a nod to the one who made eye contact with him. He tugged his cloak over the baby again.

“Meehh...”

Din glanced down, “What?”

Peering up at him, his kid asked, _Here safe? Good?_

Din’s mouth pressed into a tight line. He hesitated. “Yes.”

_Hide?_

“I just…” he sighed, “Yes, I want you to hide; for now. Just until I get a feel for the place.”

A pair of green hands reached out from behind his cloak again. Din captured them in his gloved hand, pushing them back down. “That’s the exact opposite of hiding, _ad’ika.”_

_Take off? Like others?_

“No. Not—” he almost said ‘Not yet.’ The words didn’t feel right on his tongue. Maybe someday. For now, though, Din glanced back down at his _ad,_ saying, “Not here.”

Readjusting the cloak over his foundling _,_ Din pulled open the door to the Administration Building and stepped inside.

His armor registered the climate change as the discrete reading of 29˚in the upper right corner of his HUD flickered. The blue digits adjusted to show a green 72˚. Another symbol flashed just below, telling him the heating mechanism of his armor had cycled off. Din couldn’t remember the last time he’d been inside a building that created its own climate.

Maybe when he was in Coruscant a few years back. Before that, it would have been on Mandalore, in the days before the Purge, before his second homeworld had been ravaged and his people massacred.

Memories of the fires, the screaming, and the dead snuck up on him, poisoning his thoughts. They dragged him unwillingly toward his past, flaunting sounds and smells from a time he often worked to keep suppressed.

Touching the wall beside him, Din focused on the subtle bumps in the plaster beneath his fingertips. He drew in a slow breath, paying attention to the generic smells of the office building that filtered in through his helmet. Coffee was the easiest to pick out, followed closely by a generic kind of mixed scent he couldn’t quite narrow down.

Immersing himself in the details of his present, the nightmare of his past began to fade. A few tenacious tendrils of history ripe with pain still clung fast. Din started analyzing the Mandalorian to civilian ratio of individuals he passed through the halls. The mathematical calculations effectively switched that last bit of focus away from reliving the past, bringing himself back to his present.

He saw his reflection walking up to a set of double glass doors. Standing outside, Din glanced at the modest-sized bronze plate attached to the wall.

**Alor Mazbus Zuwr**

Pulling open one of the glass doors, Din stepped through.

The linoleum floor of the hallway died off at the entryway where it butted up against a hardwood floor of the reception area of the _alor’s_ outer office. The soft footfalls of Din’s boots followed beside him as he crossed the generous space and walked up to the Mandalorian behind a desk almost as wide as the wall behind it. 

The man looked up at him as he approached. Wearing purple armor streaked down the center in a cream color that looked like it might have been yellow at some point, he gave Din a genuine smile. “What can I do for you?”

“I have an appointment to see the _alor_.”

Looking down at a ledger, the man asked, “Name?”

Din’s mouth went a little dry. Never in his old galaxy would anyone have asked for his name, while expecting an honest answer. Absolutely never would another Mandalorian have come out and asked without having an excellent reason.

Seeing the _alor_ of his Tribe had never required such information.

Then again, she didn’t have a reception office, or _any_ office, for that matter. The forge where she molded their armor and created their munitions, that had been her office. A one-stop shop where you could restock, repair, or request her permission or wisdom on almost any situation a Mandalorian might come up against.

Granted, they didn’t have the numbers that would make it necessary to ask for their names. Their Tribe had barely managed to scrape by after the Purge. Even five years later, they were lucky if they could count off thirty _vode_ , and their foundlings.

Rherr’s Tribe— _shit—_ his new Tribe, however, with over two thousand Mandos and their families, it made sense they would keep a record of who came and went through the _alor’s_ office. 

Here he was safe. Here there were no hunters after him or his _ad_.

No Empire.

No Imps.

No Gideon.

 _“Verd_ , your name?”

He swallowed. “Din Djarin.”

The Mando behind the desk nodded, “Got you. Okay, you’re a few minutes early.” He pointed to a group of chairs lined up along the wall. “Go ahead and have a seat, and I’ll let _Alor_ Zuwr know you’re here.”

Din walked over to the empty seating area. Finding himself with too much nervous energy to sit, Din picked a spot between two chairs and stood. Leaning his good shoulder against the wall, he looked down as his _ad_ whined, and then his little hands were batting at the cloak. An ear, and then two dark eyes peeked around, peering up at him.

Figuring the _alor’s_ office might be one of the safest places on Base, Din pushed his cloak back past his shoulder. His _ad_ cooed and then turned as he looked around.

The large flatscreen mounted on the wall caught his attention. Tuned to a news station, it was broadcasting footage of what appeared to be a wildfire somewhere. Reading the words scrolling across the bottom of the screen, Din saw that it was happening on the planet Haruun Kal. 

Aerial footage revealed hundreds of acres burning red, blazing through the night. He saw forests glowing, trees burning like candles, homes engulfed, vehicles driving through flames surrounding the roads as residents tried to flee.

According to the footage, the fires had been burning for weeks, and Din wondered if the Tribe ever deployed on missions to other worlds. Missions involving things like evacuation, search and rescue, or to assist the locals in containing a fire raging across millions of acres.

_“Verd.”_

Din turned. The soldier behind the desk was standing at the door to the _alor’s_ office, his hand gripping the handle. Gaze flicking down at the baby, he grinned, then looked back to Din, “ _Alor_ Zuwr will see you now.”

Walking forward, Din gave the man a nod as the door was held open for him, and stepped into the _alor’s_ office.

~~

“Yes, _vod_. Come in, come in.”

Looking across the expansive room, Din found an older man with silver hair beckoning to him from behind a dark wooden desk. Pushing to his feet, the _alor’s_ black armor edged in a rich green became more visible. It was familiar to Din, even if his face wasn’t.

The man wore a warm smile as he ambled around the side of his desk.

The _alor’s_ office was nothing like Din was used to. In his old galaxy, the forgery in the sewers was where the leader of his past Tribe had conducted business. Surrounded by duracrete on all sides, the sound of her hammers would reverberate throughout the covert as she worked the metal into armor plates. The steady low roar of the forge flames, a constant background ambiance during their brief, to-the-point conversations.

This galaxy had Din still working to adjust to how profoundly different everything was. From the snowy, white surface of Jakku to the appearance of his new _alor’s_ office. 

There was a wall to his right, made entirely of glass framed by dark wood that matched the floor he walked across. Natural light reflecting off the snow from outside filtered in through the windows, brightening the room enough to shine off the polished wooden floors. The thick oval rug under his boots took up most of the floor space, and he couldn’t help thinking of how much the foundlings trapped inside the covert day and night would have liked to have something soft like this to roll around and play on.

The beige in the rug matched two of the three remaining walls. The fourth, the one behind the alor’s desk, was painted grey and roughly sketched black into the shape of a mythosaur skull. The mural, seemingly faded with age, was large enough to take up nearly the entire wall.

Walking up to each other near the center of the room, Din took in the black eyepatch settled over the man’s right eye. There was a gnarled scar that extended from behind it, trailing down his cheek to disappear behind the high collar of his black cloak. Puffy and pink, although clearly decades old, the appearance of it hinted at a burn.

The chief of this tribe was a few steps away as he pointed, “I see you’ve brought your foundling.” Grinning at the babe still nestled behind his sling, the man’s pointed gesture morphed into a playful, grabby kind of wave.

Pressing back against him, his _ad_ waved back as Din replied, “Yes. I wasn’t sure if I should or not, but considering the controversy surrounding the child and his powers, I thought it might be a good idea.”

“Ah, even if such did not apply to the child, he would still be welcome. Children are always welcome.” They stopped in front of each other as the man offered his hand to the child. The babe’s little claw curled around the black-gloved fingertip, and the older man gave the baby wink, reiterating, “Always.”

 _Alor_ Zuwr switched his attention to Din, who was about to lean into a slight bow of respect when the other man reached out for his good hand. Offering it to him, the _alor_ clasped it within his own, giving him a hearty handshake. Throughout it all, the same kind smile never wavered. His one dark eye crinkled at the corner as it landed on his visor, and Din debated with himself whether or not it was disrespectful to keep his helmet on.

His hand was released and Din hesitated a second longer before reaching for the lip of his helmet.

“Please.” The _alor_ raised his hand, “Only if you would feel more comfortable without it, _ner verd._ The choice is yours.”

Slowly dropping his hand, Din gave him a nod. “Thank you.”

“Certainly. After all, what weight do our appearances have against our words and our actions, _Elek?”_

 _“Elek, Alor.”_ Din replied, as something in an artifact case on the far side of the desk caught his eye.

He was distracted by it for only a moment before his gaze switched back to the older man. Din never rotated his head, his helmet didn’t telegraph the split in his attention, but when he looked back, he found the _alor_ observing the same item.

When he looked back, Din recognized the knowing glint that slipped into the man’s smile as he stated, “You know what that is, yes?”

Din looked back at the sketch enclosed in glass. “Yes.”

Nodding, the _alor_ turned, beckoning with a wave of his arm, as he strolled over toward the artifacts case. “I think most of our younger _vode_ might not recognize or know the history behind it, but you do. Tell it to me, _verd.”_

“Mandalore’s Mask,” Din pointed as they approached the glass case. “I was told it was carved from the sternum bone of a mythosaur and first worn by Mandalore the First. It became the symbol of leadership among the Mandalorians, passed down to those who proved themselves worthy of being _Mand'alor_.”

Standing in front of the case, the _alor_ tucked his hands behind his back. He looked at Din as he continued to recite the lesson from his past. “Mandalore the Indomitable wore it through the Great Sith War. Later, it was passed to his successor, Mandalore the Ultimate; the last Mandalorian recorded to have worn it before being stolen from our people.”*

The older man nodded, “Mm, yes.” Turning to face the sketch behind the glass. His gaze roamed up and down the artifact.

Edges torn and eaten away by time, the sketch showed Mandalore the Ultimate standing upon a mountain cliff. The figure's mask was strikingly bold in contrast to the rest of the drawing aged brown with time. The shape of it closely resembled the visors they wore on their helms today, so many eons after it had been drawn. Around the mask, a mane of long hair sketched wildly, gave the illusion of being whipped in the wind as they stepped forward on a high boulder. Holding a shield in one arm, they stood gripping a staff with a stone-tipped spear, extended high above their head. Their stance would be apparent to any seasoned warrior as the call to charge

Alor Zuwr gave the artifact a nod, “I don’t know how it is back in your galaxy, but here, the mask itself, if it has survived through time, remains lost to us. This sketch dates back to 3844 BBY. The where’s and when’s of its discovery and how it came into the hands of our past leaders is... incomplete. However, the knowledge that it has been passed down from _alor_ to _alor_ within our Tribe for ages is not.”

They stood in silent reverence for a second longer before the older man drew in a deep breath, “Let’s sit, _ner verd._ These old bones have become finicky and like to complain if I ask too much of them.”

Holding his foundling, Din turned for the set of chairs situated in front of the desk. Walking to the far one, he turned to sit and found the _alor_ bypassing the chair behind his desk as he made his way to the one beside him. Pulling it out a little, he angled it to face Din.

The older man slowly sank downward, then plopped the last couple of inches into the chair. Din sat in the other one. 

Gesturing in Din’s general vicinity, Alor Zuwr asked, “You appear to be getting back to your feet nicely. Definitely much healthier than the last time we met. Tell me, how are your injuries healing?”

“They’re healing well; thank you.”

“Good, good.”

Din was guiding his foundling out from behind the sling to sit on his lap as the _alor_ gestured at the child, asking, “How old is your _ad?”_

“According to what I’ve been told, fifty-one years old.”

If he was surprised to hear this, his face didn’t reflect it as Din read purposeful contemplation in the other man’s features. Watching the child as he grabbed at the fingers of his gloved hand resting in the sling, the _alor_ simply remarked, “Yet he has the mannerisms and traits more suited toward a youngling—a baby if you will.”

“Yes,” agreed Din. “Developmentally, from what I’ve been able to guage, he compares to about three to five human years, depending on the situation or what he is doing at the time.”

The _alor_ nodded, “Does he communicate with you?”

“He does. He’ll communicate with anyone he feels is safe. He’s non-verbal, but he knows sign language, and has picked it up quickly.”

Tipping his head at the child, the _alor_ smiled when he looked over. _Is that so, ad’ika? Can you sign?_

Sticking a finger in his mouth, his foundling shrank back against his chest plate as his head tipped up to Din’s helmet. His large eyes glued to the T of his visor, and Din told him, “It’s okay. _Alor_ Zuwr is safe.”

_Good?_

Din smiled behind his visor, “Yes, _ad’ika.” Good, safe, kind._

Still seeking assurance from him, his foundling remained pressed back against him as he turned to face the _alor_ , and responded to his question with, _Yes._

“Ah, good, good. Tell me, _ad’ika,_ what is your name?”

Din swallowed.

The babe answered, _Ad’ika._

“He, um—”

Din began to answer, and the _alor_ held up a hand. “It’s okay, let the child speak.”

Drawing in a slow breath, Din’s eyes raised to the ceiling.

The _alor_ addressed the child again, “No, _ad_ , not a nickname. What is your formal name—the name your _buir_ calls you when he wants you to listen.”

 _OH!_ His child threw him under the speeder bus by enthusiastically answering: _Womp rat!_

 _Alor_ Zuwr’s face went momentarily slack as his one eye raised from the child in his lap and settled on the black of his visor.

Clearing his voice, Din shifted in his seat. “He doesn’t... I mean, I don’t know—” He stopped himself, collecting his thoughts. “There wasn’t any type of identification when I found him. The child doesn’t know, and so far, I haven’t been able to locate any of his kind. As far as I know, he doesn’t have an official name, and I was hesitant to give him one. It didn’t seem my place to do so.”

“But you are his _buir._ If not your place, then whom?”

“I was told to find and deliver him to his people. It seemed—a contradictory set of actions to name him as my own, only to find his kind and deliver him to them. To...” Din swallowed past a creeping tightness in his throat, “To give him away.” 

The _alor_ looked confused. Shaking his head, he asked, “Were you not given a timespan to actively look for the child’s family before having the option to adopt him and claim him as one of your clan?”

“I—not entirely, no. He is recognized as my clan, and I suppose the option had been there, somewhere between the lines of the orders I had received, but I had been trying to stay a step ahead of the ones hunting us... I didn’t have the time to fully consider my options.”

“I see, yes. Yes, that makes sense.” He looked at Din, “Your circumstances have now changed. Those that seek to steal the child’s powers are long behind you. It is now time for you to name your _ad._ ”

Din swallowed. _“Elek, Alor.”_

“There is power in a name. Choose wisely, _vod._ ”

_“Ne suvarir, Alor.”_

The older man’s kind smile made a return. “Good, good...”

 _“Alor,”_ Din turned a little in his seat. “Do you know of any like his kind here, in this galaxy?”

Looking down at the child, the man shook his head, “No, _ner verd._ I can’t say that I have.”

Propping an elbow on the armrest, the older man settled his chin on his thumb. Looking at the child, he seemed to consider him for a moment. “In the years before taking up the helm of _alor_ , I had traveled the corners of the galaxy—countless cities, villages, and farmlands, I’ve walked. Never have I encountered one of his species, nor have I ever heard of any.” His gaze raised to look at Din. “It is to be assumed you have come up empty in your travels?”

“Yes. The only one who knew anything about the child was the _alor_ of my old Tribe—and that was only her knowledge of his powers. She had heard tales of a group of sorcerers call the _Jetii.”_

The man’s brow furrowed. “The _Jetii_ were enemies.”

“They were, but my _ad_ is not one of them. He barely understands the limits of his powers. I can’t believe that he’s had any type of formal training by this group.”

“No,” the _alor_ was quick to agree. “No, surely not. He is much too young for that.”

“Yes.” Din agreed. He breathed out a silent, steadying breath.

The older man smiled at the babe. “Yes, far too young.” Pitching slightly forward in his seat, he spoke to the child. “Tell me, little one...”

Looking down, Din found his foundling’s gaze entrapped by the wall of windows. The snow was falling again, and his large brown eyes were captivated as they stared at the flakes that blew and behind the glass.

Din gave him a small rub behind his petal-shaped ear. “Hey.” The child gripped the material of his sleeve as he turned in his hold to look at him. Din told him, _“Alor_ was asking you a question.”

The babe turned to face the older man, and he asked, “Tell me, how do you like it over here so far, in your new home?”

_I like it. D is fluffy and funny._

_D?_

_D is for Riley_.

The _alor_ looked back at Din.

Din explained, “It’s a nickname shortcut for the canine where we’re staying.”

“Oh, I see.” He looked back at the child, “What is your favorite thing to do so far?”

_I like the snow. There is a lot... and it stays!_

The _alor_ chuckled, “Yes, it does, for months at a time, _ad’ika._ Not much snow from where you come from?”

_No. We had to fly too much. We couldn’t stay with the snow._

_Alor_ Zuwr hummed at that. He looked at Din, “I read over the briefing you submitted regarding your last couple of years in your galaxy.”

Din nodded.

“It appears you went to great lengths to keep your foundling safe.”

“This is the Way.”

“Indeed, _verd.”_ The _alor_ flashed him a toothy grin, “This is the Way.” His gaze narrowed, and Din could feel the line of questioning shift. “What is the year in your galaxy?”

“9ABY.”

“Had the Great Purge happened by this time?”

Swallowing, Din adjusted in his seat. Conscious of the memories he had worked hard to repress, he gave the man a nod. _“Elek, Alor.”_

“Then, it was eight years ago for you?”

“Seven _.”_

The man nodded, “Did you personally experience it, _ner_ _vod?”_

“I did.”

“In what capacity?”

“I was a Corporal in the Fighting Corps when the Republic attacked.”

“Tell me _,_ was the destruction of your Mandalore near-complete, also?”

Din didn’t want to think about this again. He had just packed away the memories. Still, he was drawing in a deep breath to answer when a gloved hand landed on his arm.

Din looked over, and the older man smiled, “Your silence is answer enough, _vod._ It echoes my own silence when I struggle to find the words to describe the loss of my people and my home all those decades ago.”

The black-gloved hand remained on his arm as he went on to say, “I feel I’m the lucky one out of us, _ner ad_. My own experience was close to sixty years ago. The memory has had time to become dusty from disuse. Oh, it pops up now and then, usually when most inconvenient, but for you, it is still hot and raw within your mind.”

His hand landed on Din’s arm with gentle pats, and a glimpse of a memory weeks old surfaced. Lying on a gurney in the trauma unit, he’d been suffering in front of the _alor_ before speaking his vows to join the Tribe. Just like right then, the older man had tried to offer comfort to him in the form of those simple, light pats.

“Give it time, _ad,”_ The older man encouraged. “The memories never leave completely, but they do dull and fade in time.”

Din gave him a nod of understanding, and then with another couple of pats, the older man was pushing himself up from his chair.

Din was halfway to his feet when he got waved off.

“Sit, sit...”

Slowly sinking back into his seat, Din’s visor tracked the old Mandalorian walking around the side of the large wooden desk. Pulling out the chair, he did the same slow plop into the padded seat. He pushed papers and a couple of datapads to the side, revealing a rectangular glass plate built into the surface of the desk. He leaned over it, and when he touched it, it lit up. It was like an oversized datapad encased into the desktop.

The _alor_ swiped across the screen. “You said you were a Corporal in the Fighting Corps.” There was a shift in the older man’s tone. Gone was the easygoing, conversational timbre, and in its place came the briskness of a man getting down to business.

Din sat up straight in his seat. “Yes, _Alor.”_

“And, did you ever lead a team?”

“Yes. I was squad leader for approximately three years.”

“Are you interested in joining the Fighting Corps here?”

“I am.”

Scrolling up a few times, the man said, “You will have an opportunity to show your aptitude for the rank of corporal. If you pass, if the commanding officers in your unit see fit, you will be able to keep this rank coming into the Corps. Additionally, I have a formal request from Lieutenant Rherr Strart. He asks that you be placed in his unit.” His eye looked up from the screen and landed on Din. “Are you okay with that?”

Din blinked. It felt wrong that he was even asked his opinion on his placement within the Corps. “I... yes, _Alor.”_

The man smiled. “I take it the lieutenant hasn’t brought up this option with you.”

“No.”

He nodded, “Normally, we don’t fulfill personal requests on placement unless there is a solid reason behind it. I say being relocated from an entirely different dimension classifies as a solid reason. Don’t you?”

The corner of his mouth ticked upward, “Yes.”

“Things seem relatively upside down and maybe just a little bit wrong over here?”

“It... yes. Many things.”

“Yes, I can imagine.” The compassion and understanding in those words stood out, helping to ease his nerves.

Scrolling down the screen with his finger, the _alor_ read from the form, “Lieutenant Strart also reports that he had the opportunity to fight alongside you once in the recent past. Is this correct?”

“Yes.” Wiping the bar clean of Jett and his crew happened only a month and a half ago—only six weeks. With everything he’s done and been through since then, it felt like both a year ago and just yesterday.

“He also states that the two of you worked well together. Do you agree with this?”

Din gave the man behind the desk tight a nod, “I do.”

Looking pleased, the _alor_ nodded in response, “Good. I think placing you within Strart’s unit makes sense. Don’t be fooled by the sight of this worn-out body.” Smiling, the older man tapped the side of his head, “Still sharp as a whip up here, and I remember how things were around here decades ago. If your galaxy is anything like mine was around that time, this is an entirely new way of life for you _._ Having a familiar face in your unit that you trust, it will help you adjust to the different rhythm of this galaxy.”

“That is considerate of you. Thank you.”

“Very good.” He touched the corner of the screen on the desktop, and it went dark. The older man leaned back, the high-back chair swiveling to the side, “Now all that is settled, do you have any questions for me?”

Din took a moment to consider his response. “Nothing comes to mind.”

“Give it time,” That kind smile reappeared. “After you get into the swing of things, questions are bound to surface. If you’re finding yourself unable to find the answers you seek, my door is open.”

Din gave him a slight nod, “Thank you.”

He received a nod in return. Then the _alor_ drew in a breath before telling him, “I have good discernment when it comes to meeting with inductees. Having a strong sense of perception for the man sitting across from you is essential when it comes to leading thousands, and I like what I see in you, Din Djarin. I feel confident you will quickly settle into things and become a dependable asset to our Tribe. We’re glad to have you and your _ad_ among our numbers.”

Holding his foundling, Din stood as the _alor_ rose to his feet. “It is an honor to be taken in. Thank you.” He gave the man a solemn nod of his head as the man walked back up to them.

The man patted on Din’s arm again, “It is good to have you both.” 

~~

He watched the soldier leave his office. The door clicked shut behind him, and Mazbus walked back around his desk. Sinking into his chair, he swiveled to the side as he looked out the windows at the white landscape that had captivated the babe.

Running over the details of the meeting in his mind, he couldn’t help thinking about how the _verd_ had struggled with his memories of the Purge. Like he’d told the young man, he too remembered how raw and intrusive they once were for him.

The corporal’s keen knowledge of Mandalorian history, his recent involvement in the war that devastated an entire Creed... Mazbus couldn’t help feeling a connection with him. Something about him seemed almost nostalgic. Maybe it was because virtually no one around the Base was old enough to have experienced the things he’d been through over sixty years ago.

Din Djarin had.

Perhaps this was the reason he had already decided to take a particular interest in the young man’s career within the Tribe. He was curious as to where this new path would take him. He was curious bout the child and his powers. Sure, there were other species besides humans on Jakku, but none like the child.

What would this mean for the Tribe? They would protect him. That fact didn’t require any further thought. However, if he was fifty-one, and still a babe... they needed to look into the long-term of this child’s lifespan. As difficult as the thought was, a plan needed to be developed concerning the day the child outlived his _buir._ A plan to ensure that his place within the Tribe would remain secure and unwavering, that he would have the support he would need to continue to thrive and grow into adulthood.

Turning back to his desk, Mazbus touched the screen and opened a new file. A series of meetings between Din Djarin and a few other select members essential to creating this plan would be necessary over the years. And, Mazubs was determined that the workings of this plan be well underway before the day came that he would pass down Mandalore's Mask to the next _alor_.

*Information is taken directly from https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Mandalore%27s_Mask


End file.
